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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025090">Lost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innok/pseuds/Innok'>Innok</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Dies, M/M, Men Crying, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:47:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27025090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innok/pseuds/Innok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He lost him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! This is my first fic that I publish on the AO3, so I'm very excited. English is not my native language, and if you find any mistake, please point them out to me! I hope you enjoy this fanfiction!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was impossible to get the key into the lock the first time: his hands were shaking, and his shoulders were shaking from the rising sobs.</p><p>Jaskier is strong. He made it through, didn't shed a single tear at the funeral, come on, just a little bit left...</p><p>When he opens the door, he throws the keys on the floor and then falls down himself.  Jaskier hugs his knees to his chest and buries his face in them, finally giving way to tears.</p><p>This is wrong, it shouldn't be like this. It could have happened to anyone, but not to him.</p><p>After all, Geralt returned to him from the most difficult, most suicidal tasks, wounded, perhaps angry, sometimes sad, if it was possible to save not all, but always alive. It was a law, as simple and obvious as the fact that the sun rises in the East: Geralt would always return to it.</p><p>What went wrong?</p><p>Through his tears, Jaskier sees Geralt`s shoes standing in the hallway. As usual, perfectly cleaned. For a second, it seemed to him that all this was not true, that Geralt was about to follow him into the apartment and start scowling at the non-existent dirt. Buttercup gave in to an impulse and turned around, but of course, nothing.</p><p>He suddenly felt extremely angry with the shoes. How can they continue to stand there as usual, as if nothing had happened?! As if his world wasn't falling apart?!</p><p>Jaskier stood up and abruptly threw shoes away.</p><p>His world is falling apart, and he is falling apart, crumbling, crumbling from within. It is crushed, devastated, broken.</p><p>Geralt will no longer grumble on the dirt, smile at his jokes, to pick up after a long night of rehearsals, lazily cuddle in the morning because of Geralt will be no more, no more, no more, nomorenomorenomorenomore...</p><p>This fact tears the Jaskier from the inside, pulls the lungs with terrible claws, and especially strongly passes through the heart, and it hurts, how it hurts. It's bleeding out, flooding him from the inside. Jaskier is sick. He doesn't want to feel it, but he can't get it out of him, so he just c h o k i n g.</p><p>Everything reminds him of Geralt. His things hanging on a chair, a mug on the dresser with half-finished coffee, the smell of his cologne in the air. It's like he just left the apartment for five minutes, just to take out the trash, and he'll be right back. Jaskier bites his lip hard to keep from crying out loud.</p><p>He staggers to the kitchen. His vision blurs, and his legs can't hold him up.</p><p>Jaskier simply does not hold anything, because its main support, support is no longer there.</p><p>There's no way to get it back.</p><p>It can't be fixed, put together, repaired, glued together, absolutely not.</p><p>The realization of this bends Jaskier again, breaks his spine, and the internal heart bleed finally floods him, tries to pour out, and his ribs crack under the pressure.</p><p>Choking on another sob, he leans against the wall and notices the calendar hanging on it. With horses drawn on it.</p><p>They bought it because Geralt love horses.</p><p>No.</p><p>Because Geralt loved horses.</p><p>Jaskier buries his forehead in it and realizes that the last couple of days on the calendar have not been crossed out. It is not yet Wednesday for this calendar, and Geralt is still alive.</p><p>Jaskier laughs.</p><p>He doesn't want to cross out these days, as if if he does, it will finally confirm Geralt's death, and so he will still be alive somewhere, at least for someone, at least for the damn calendar.</p><p>would Jaskier like to be a calendar.</p><p>He pulls away from the wall and finally gets to the point where he crawled to the kitchen. He reaches for the bottle with a trembling hand and drinks directly from it.</p><p>The alcohol burns his throat, but it's still infinitely far from the pain that's eating him up from the inside.</p><p>God, will it always be like this now? How to live with her, and how to live without Geralt?</p><p>He stumbles over something.</p><p>Guitar.</p><p>They were arguing a lot due to the fact that Jaskier throws his musical instruments around the home.</p><p>Come to think of it, they'd been fighting too often about every little thing. </p><p>And even on that Tuesday, they had quarreled over some nonsense, and Buttercup stubbornly refused to give in. I didn't even kiss Geralt before work. Principles, you see, did not allow. Principled, fuck.</p><p>And what, where did they lead him? When will he apologize to Geralt now?</p><p>Ah, Yes.</p><p>Never.</p><p>Jaskier chokes on another sob, grabs the guitar and slams it against the wall.</p><p>The strings are stretched and torn with plaintive sobs, and Buttercup echoes them. The wreckage of the hull falls to the floor, and Jaskier repeats after them.</p><p>If only he had known.</p><p>He doesn't even remember what exactly he said to him at the time, but it's clearly not the most pleasant thing. The last thing I received from him, Geralt, is an insult. Great, just great. Jaskier, you're not just an asshole, you're a fabulous idiot.</p><p>Suddenly, the sticker from the body of a broken guitar catches his eyes.</p><p>White wolf.</p><p>It was a guitar that Geralt had given him.</p><p>"No, no, no..."</p><p>Buttercup blindly fumbles at the broken pieces, while trying to hold the remains of the neck to himself, does not notice how he scratches his fingers in blood.</p><p>What did he do, you idiot, you idiot...</p><p>"What are you doing? Jaskier, stop it! Damn you, Julian!"</p><p>He's being shaken. He looks up bleary-eyed and meets concerned violet eyes. Yennifer.</p><p>"You... how? Wh..."<br/>
"You didn't close the door."</p><p>Yen's voice is even. The only thing that gives it away is a slightly leaking eyeliner, pallor and the same as his hands tremble.</p><p>She was one of the few people who didn't come up to him at funerals with pitiful phrases, because she was well aware of their uselessness, and he was grateful for that.</p><p>Ian gently pulls his hands away from the wreckage of the guitar.</p><p>Ian's voice is even. The only thing that gives it away is a slightly leaking eyeliner, pallor and the same as his hands tremble.</p><p>She was one of the few people who didn't come up to him at funerals with pitiful phrases, because she was well aware of their uselessness, and he was grateful for that.</p><p>Ian gently pulls his hands away from the wreckage of the guitar.</p><p>She looks him in the eye.</p><p>"Now tell me."</p><p>And it breaks through. He talks and talks, sometimes dropping to a whisper, then breaking into a scream. He talks about the shoes that are standing as if nothing had happened, about the calendar, about the bleeding heart, about how they quarreled with Geralt, how they didn't say goodbye...</p><p>Jaskier tells everything, but for some reason it doesn't get any easier. He begins to shake violently again.</p><p>"Oh, Jaskier".</p><p>By the end, he's just wheezing, and Ian presses the top of his head to His stomach, stroking his hair gently, if a little jerkily, and he explodes again from the inside.</p><p>"I lost him, I lost him, lost him, lost, lost, lost...".</p><p>Jaskier could not stop. The sense of loss is huge, sharp, devastating, it makes him feel empty, it presses on his throat, it breaks his ribs, it turns him inside out.</p><p>He wants to forget himself, to disappear, to die, just not to feel it anymore.</p><p>It doesn't make sense anymore, and it never will.</p><p>Because he really lost him.</p>
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